Days Searching
by RustyPaperclip
Summary: There's the Vault life. Then there's the Wastes life. Eddie's lives are not bridging well at all and now he has no idea who he is. After helping Vault 101, he brings his favourite bully around to find that bridge. Eventual Butch/LWEddie
1. 5 minutes before leaving the vault

_**Note: Reuploaded because someone told me the format made it annoying to read. So, Eddie is an original character, Butch isn't, but Butch is so out of character I don't even… anyway…rating is for the vulgarities etc. Thanks for reviews if I get any… **_

_**I think each chapter can be read as a drabble…of sorts. **_

_**THANKS!**_

**5 minutes before leaving the vault**

Clean. It was clean. I forgot what clean was like. Dirtless floor. Stainless walls. Non-irradiated water. Clean air. Clean-shaven. Clean-shaven like Butch.

"You know Amata won't let me leave after she closes the vault." For a moment, Butch was that same boy who snuck into Dad's office to get patched up after his mother had hit him once again. Begging Dad not to tell the Overseer so his mom wouldn't get locked up.

"Where is the Tunnel Snake pride?"

"You're going to get killed."

"But you're alive." The kid has a point. "Aww. Come on, man. Take me with you. Teach me things." Butch was doing the pouting thing again with his pretty boy lips. I cringed at the sight. Seriously, was I ever like this? Clean. Pristine. Pure like a Vault dweller. Even like Butch.

"Fine. But I'm not wearing that jacket." The kid's face split into a rare grin of happiness. Then it shifted back into suave tunnel snake mode.

"Sure. Whatever. More ladies for me." He walked ahead, carrying the sack filled with selected belongings. Clean? This kid just looked like he was clean.


	2. 1 day after leaving the vault

**2 minutes after leaving the vault**

"It's a dog. You've seen a dog before. We have them in the vault."

"Yeah, but …"

"But what?"

"This one is bigger." Butch was kidding, right. Dogmeat stared up and barked, knowing full well we're talking about him. The pooch was just trying to be friendly when he bounded over to us. And Butch stopped in his tracks and whimpered. We were two minutes out of the vault and he's already afraid of the one thing he should be least afraid of. Tunnel Snake, my ass.

"Touch him."

"No fucking way! Are you crazy? He's dirty!"

"No shit. Everything out here is dirty." Butch gaped. "Come on, man. You know this. We learned this from Brotch." He closed his mouth. Then after a huff of breath, he composed himself.

"I always knew you were a teacher's pet."

"Stop being an idiot and just touch him."

"I ain't touching it-"

"His name is Dogmeat."

"That's a stupid name."

"As if Tunnel Snakes is better."

"You're asking for it, pal." His nostrils flared and he squared his jaw, much like he always did when he was being difficult. Some part of me revelled in a sense on nostalgia. It was undeniably comforting to take a little part of the vault with me even if it was Butch. I let on a smirk.

"Bring it, roachboy."

"Oh, it's on! It's SO on!" Butch jumped.

We ended up having our first fistfight right outside the vault.

Later, bloodied and dirty because Butch had one hell of a mean right hook that I forgot about, Dogmeat whined and slobbered over my face. He was probably wondering why his master would let this jackass beat him up and not let him, Man's best friend, help. A snicker escaped my lips as Butch watched, mouth agape. Seeing the bruise on his cheekbone and the swollen bloody lip, I felt strangely satisfied. And amused.

"Wow," was what Butch said as he stared with big blue eyes. He lifted himself up and winced. "Whatever, man. I still ain't touching it."

"Dogmeat would bite your hand, now, anyway." His fist had my bloodstain on it.

**1 hour after leaving the vault**

"Man, I'm all itchy." Butch was scratching his neck, looking a picture of discomfort. "How the hell do you breathe out here? It stinks."

"You don't smell any better." 1 hour outside the vault. I was already feeling the voice grate against the skin of his face. Much like how the Deathclaw scratch on the torso felt like. Nostalgia up and went out the door. We were a few minutes from Springvale and I couldn't wait to get home. Home. When had home become Megaton?

"YOU smell worse," he pointed at me.

"You'll get used to it." Dogmeat yelped in agreement. I leant over to rub behind his ears. The scratch wound stretched, the sharp pain spreading throughout my body. I let a small groan out. The bandage felt like it was soaked as it squelched slightly when I shifted. Shit. Shouldn't have rolled around in the dirt like that.

"Do you even know where we're going?"

"I know where I'M going."

"Everything looks the same. And that thing up there creeps me out." Butch's admission spurred me into action. Great. Just great. I was wounded, Butch was being a dumbass and fucking creatures wanted to eat us.

"What thing?" I pulled out my rifle and glanced at the pip-boy, checking to see where the enemy was. No red dot. No green dot. Nothing. I pricked up my ears to catch any sign of an oncoming attack. Nothing. Even Dogmeat was relaxed. He actually even seemed puzzled at my attempt at protection.

"What? Do you hear something?" Butch asked, his face shifting into alert, eyes darting around the open space.

"No. You did." He scrunched up his face in confusion.

"I didn't say that."

"You said you're afraid of something."

"I ain't afraid of nothing!" His nostrils flared again.

"You said that thing up there 'creeps you out'."

"Oh," he answered sheepishly. "Man, you know. The sky." Butch shrugged nonchalantly. I, affectionately named Hero of the Wastes, wanted to knock this dude out. So bad that even my fist hurt. Maybe if we go back to the vault, now, Amata will let him in again. '_You need to be patient, son_,' Dad's voice interrupted the thoughts of abandoning Butch. '_The kid needs you_.' Dad had said that once before, when we were both patching Butch up. Butch had been feverish and was mumbling incoherently for his Mum to stop hitting him. That night as Butch slept fitfully, he wouldn't let go of his tight grip on my hand. The red handprint stayed on my skin for as long as Butch's bruises did.

"Man, why is it so… open?" Butch asked, staring up at the offending sky. He was that same boy, wasn't he? Now, he looked like he had never seen a sky before. Well, actually, he hadn't. That's what a vault was for: Hiding you from the sky.

"Here," he said, rummaging in my sack for a helmet of some sort. My hands closed around a cap that I stole from Stanley. Butch's eyes widened. Something like gratitude flashed on his face when he put it on, but we both knew he wasn't going to thank anyone. And that was fine. We continued walking in silence before the first houses of Springvale faded into sight.

"Man, it stinks."

**1 hour 30 minutes after leaving the vault**

Butch was stunned. I laughed at his non-movement. Couldn't help it. He looked so lost, especially with the dirty red cap on his head, a spray of blood across his cheek and the purple bruise I had given him. This was Butch. Butch in the Wastes. For the first time ever, he had caused death.

"You just killed that guy!" Butch pointed at him.

"Did you realise that he was aiming his gun at you?" He gestured at the headless raider in front of them.

"You just killed him!"

"Hey, man. You took out your toothpick." Butch slowly glanced down at his hand where he was gripping his switchblade. And he was horrified.

"Eddie." I froze. It had been a long time since anyone called me by name. Dad called me 'son'. But, out in the Wastes, no one else really cared to ask my name. "Can we rest or something?"

"Sure." He looked sick. "Want to go back to the vault?"

"Hell, no!" he replied passionately.

"Okay, well…uh. That won't be the first death you'll see. This is the system of justice we have out here."

"If you want to start a gang, people will fight you?" I smirked. Couldn't help it. His innocence sometimes… was just so Butch. Yet, when he wanted to be, he was one cold-hearted bastard.

"If you have something they want, they'll kill you for it." Like your innocence, Butch man. They'll fucking gut you for it.

**5 hours after leaving the vault**

We made it to Megaton where Lucas gave Butch the suspicious eye. Butch was himself, again, and smirked at the figure of authority. I had to explain that the dude in the leather jacket was a jackass but wouldn't cause trouble.

"You're an upstanding citizen. But if there's trouble, I'll fuckin end ya." I saluted Lucas and followed Dogmeat home. Butch walked slowly, observing everything. He wanted to touch the Brahmin. He wanted to touch the Atom. He wanted to touch a dead squirrel. He poked the empty bottles of Nuka Cola on the table beside Jericho's shack. Jericho eyed him like fresh meat.

"It looks like the Vault," was his awed response to the interior. He poked the chair. He poked the bobbleheads, watching them bobble their heads. He poked Wadsworth and chuckled when the robot asked him if he wanted some water. It was actually distressing to see this side of Butch. I kept waiting for him to cuss or try to break something in the house. I wondered if he'd steal the bobbleheads. Or the Nuka Colas. Dogmeat was confused about the newest addition to the house. He just lay on the couch, keeping a wary eye on the new vault-kid, who was, at the moment, making Wadsworth tell him jokes. Yet, there was this sickening feeling in me that wanted him to be impressed by the house. I didn't understand it.

I climbed up the stairs to the infirmary, to take care of that little scratch. It hurt when the fabric pulled at the broken skin, where the Deathclaw got a lucky swipe. Okay, so it wasn't little. It looked like a river's tributaries. The torn skin started to bleed again. I peeled the dirty bandages, wiping up the trail of blood that oozed out. There were clumps of dried blood and skin. Man. I'm screwed. I was aware that I was probably groaning. I was not going to deny; the fucking wound stings.

"Shit, man. What the hell?" Butch's hoarse voice reached my ears. A wave of insecurity came over me but I ignored it. "You're bleeding."

"Yeah," was my lame reply. No, shit. I'm bleeding my life out, here. It probably wasn't such a good idea to fist fight with Butch before I was properly healed, but hey, the deal's done. Logic always flew out the window when he's around. I continued wiping up the blood, trying to look like it was nothing as I made my way to the mirror in my bedroom. I couldn't believe that I was this insecure from an old bully staring at my body like that. Shit. The towel I was using was soaked through with blood. Butch moved out of the way. Scrambling for a couple of Stimpaks in the first aid kit, I finally found one and plunged the needle right into the wound. Butch winced. I imagined I was I wincing too.

"Man," Butch started, voice rough. "You're a fucking mess." I couldn't resist laughing at the brutal honesty.

"No shit. Can you get me some bandages?"

"Sure. Whatever." Butch walked a kind of stilted walk as he got the bandages from the metal tray. As he passed them to me, he flopped down on the same bed, watching me patch up. He probably was observing the myriad of old scars and bruises on this body. And on the face. Yeah. I was a mess. A feral ghoul left deep scratches on the side of the right cheek. It had faded away to thin but grotesque jagged lines now. I usually tried to hide it under the curtain of my hair. Another Stimpak pierced into the wound. This time, I could not contain my howl of pain. The skin felt like it separated then knitted together with the Deathclaw's claws. It was good, though. The flesh was finally starting to heal.

"You know you have freckles on your back?"

"This isn't best time to admire my body, alright," I answered through gritted teeth.

"Just saying." For a moment, there was silence and the hurt was getting bearable. Butch's voice came softly. "You know, in case, you want me to help-"

"Don't worry about it."

"Just saying. You're kind of a mess."


	3. 4 days after leaving the vault

**4 days after leaving the vault**

"You need a haircut. And a shave." We were having breakfast in the afternoon. And Butch was nagging. Again. See. He had to nag because I was not the same little vault dweller that he liked to pick on. Butch and his penchant for stylishness. When I was much younger, I always thought he picked on me because he hated my hair. It was… naturally curly like Dad's. Most of the time, my hair was unkempt. As a child I hated it because Butch hated it so much that he'd pick on me. Now, Butch sat at the table, a little worn, but still maintaining the pristine cleanliness of the vault. Sure his jacket had a little blood on it but he was still Mr Butch-man the barber from vault 101.

"No one's going to give a damn."

"You're a hero!" Damned Three Dog. "And you look like just got scratched ten times over by… that thing that scratched you."

"Deathclaw."

"Yeaaah…" His voice trembled. "Even the name gives me the creeps," he muttered.

"Everything gives you the creeps."

"Oh, like you know me better." Yeah, Butch. I do know you better. You're getting ready to jump. It was easy to tell. The snake wore his feelings on his sleeve. He even laid down the fork on the table carefully in preparation. Butch was so… careful with cutlery. Always had been.

"You don't like radroaches," I pointed. He visibly shuddered.

"You don't like being clean." I snorted at that. "You want to have that rugged thing going on. But you're a mess."

"Oh. Like YOU know me better." I actually wanted to be clean. But all the water was irradiated. It sucked showering with irradiated water. It was like … attempting to dig ridges into your flesh using a spoon. Irradiated water had a metallic flavour on the skin.

"Sure I do. I'm a barber." I snorted again. Butch had that determined look on his face. Almost calculative. He was staring at my mop. Okay. My hair was a mini centaur. But hey, everything mutated out here, right? I was not getting any cleaner out here in the Wastes. Butch, on the other hand, needed to get dirty. It had been 4 days. He needed to smell like the Wastes. He needed to kill something. Anyway, if Butch was going to stay for a while, he'd better learn how to shoot straight. Still, honestly, it would kind of be nice to get a haircut or something. Wadsworth was as scary as Andy sometimes. Andy. Ugh. I would never forget how he sawed off a leg to remedy a sprained toe.

"Okay, man. I'll make a deal with you."

"What's up?"

"You kill some roaches. I'll let you groom me."

"You're on. Butch-man is ON." I win, either way. Probably.


	4. 5 days after leaving the vault

**5 days after leaving the vault**

Jericho was pissed off at us. We were using teddy bears and empty cola bottles for target practice and he went out of his shack and started yelling at Butch. Butch, the dumbass, yelled back. I had no idea what it was about until Jericho grabbed Butch's collar to spit into his face. Butch was ready to bolt. I could see it in his face. It was not funny at all. Ah, fuck it. It was funny.

"Jericho, I'm sorry. Let him go." I apologised because Jericho was a bigger dumbass than Butch. And more experienced. And more violent. And a much better shot than Butch. Or me. He let Butch go. I held back an uncharacteristic sigh of relief. Jericho glared at me before warning me about the teddy bears. I honestly had no idea what it was about. I just figured we should treat the teddies better. Butch was still stunned as Jericho nodded at me and left us for the bar.

"Wow. You really are a hero," he enthused in disbelief. I ignored that comment.

"What did he say to you?" I gave him a once-over for any injuries out of habit.

"Asked if I stole the bear." He dusted off his dusty jacket.

"What did you say?"

"I said I didn't steal the rotten fleabag."

"You're a jerk."

"You're a goody two shoes."

"You have bad aim."

"You have bad hair!"

"You're afraid of radroaches!"

"You're afraid of me!" He laughed. I punched. We fought.

Jericho found us in front of the house, exhausted and bleeding. As he blew a curl of smoke into Butch's face, he smirked.

"You're a bunch of sick fucks."

"Eddie is," Butch drawled. Jericho, on the other hand, had confusion written all over his face.

"Who's Eddie?" Jericho asked. I felt my name get tarnished as soon as it left Butch's mouth.


	5. 10 days after leaving the vault

**10 days after leaving the vault**

I had to admit. Butch's aim was improving. He shot 1 roach so far in its legs. But hey, at least it was part of the body now and he wasn't running to me yelling out "Tunnel Snakes for life!" like a mantra over and over. It had just been a week and we already got into 4 fistfights over some trivial things. Not that it matters, but each time after, when we were lying down and trying to contain the pain, the air felt considerably lighter. It was strangely exhilarating to … hit him. See Butch bleed from a nose wound, a torn lip or the tiny cut across his brow. This is what his mom probably felt when she abused him.

No. That sounded wrong…This was very different.

Once, Dad and Jonas had to drug Butch before attempting to fix the fracture in his left arm. His mom had tried to smash a broken bottle over his head and he blocked the impact with his arm. The broken glass left a pattern on his skin. In fact, the scar was still there. It was made up of shiny, irregular lines that bulged like snakes under the skin. Sometimes it even seemed like the snakes were wriggling. Especially when my sight got blurry from blood running into my eyes.

"This place gives me the creeps." Now that they were in the sewers, Butch was trying hard to be brave. It was getting easier to gauge his moods. No, no. I could always figure it out. Just that I forgot I could. Funny how just a few months of leaving the Vault and I slipped into a new life. Not that I minded. But sometimes, I forgot the things I left behind. Like Amata. And like Butch. At the moment, he still looked a downright idiot wearing that jacket in this environment. What? Was he trying to seduce the roaches? Then again, that made me quirk a smile.

"Which place doesn't?"

"Your house." A charming smile made its way to me. I snorted. He wanted to get out of it. I glanced over to see a tremble in his knees.

"Whatever Butch. I'm not backing you up on this one." Butch pouted. "Stand guard. Those roaches are killers."

"Fuck off, man." Butch bristled. "And don't smile like that."

"Like what?" Butch wanted to pounce. His knuckles were white as he held onto the pistol. And the smile he didn't like? It was only fuelling my need to smile like this. Watching my favourite bully smouldering under stress was very entertaining. See. That Tunnel Snake jacket with the Tunnel Snake hair…pretty much his whole person, being in the sewers looked ridiculous.

"Like…THAT."

"I'll smile however the fuck I want."

"You're asking for it, Eddie." Shit. He said my name. I growled at him out of reflex. He smirked. I hated the way he said it. I hated that he knew I hated it. Okay. Back up. I was glad that someone actually remembered enough to say it, but the fact that it came from Butch... I wanted to gut him. It just reminded me how much he didn't care, which was actually, understandable because Butch was a jackass of a bully who always liked control. But. Dammit, Butch. I fucking patched up your wounds. At least, say it sounding like you're happy to see me or something. I hate you, man. I hate you. I hope those roaches hump your dirty legs.

**2 hours later**

The roaches humped his dirty legs.


	6. 20 days after leaving the vault

**20 days after leaving the vault**

I couldn't shoot without reopening the bullet wound on my shoulder. My fault. Well, Butch's fault for not paying attention. And my fault for trying to save him.

I'm fucked.

The saint thing was getting to my head. I could not believe I took a bullet for Butch.

Ah, who was I kidding? I would have done it again if I had to.

We were on our third attempt to get Butch to shoot at least 5 radroaches. He was amazingly, making good progress and was on the third roach when out of nowhere a group of raiders ambushed us. Butch froze. I quickly unholstered my Blackhawk to save our asses. I'd say I was saving our asses pretty damn well, actually.

And then… shit hit the fan.

I saw one of the raiders took aim at Butch and I shoved him out of the way, getting the 10 mm bullet lodged in my shoulder in the process. The flesh ripped apart. I screamed. It hurt like hell.

Butch finally got out of his shock and shot the remaining raiders. When he turned to me afterwards, he had an unreadable expression on his face. I… had never seen him like that. Wordlessly, he shifted the sack off my shoulder to carry it. I thanked him. My body was beginning to reject the exercise. I was perspiring and it took tremendous effort to not stumble. We trekked back to Megaton in heavy silence. I thought he was furious that I showed him up. But, he …

He willingly helped me pull the bullet out. He willingly helped to clean the wound. And he willingly dressed it, doing a neater job than I ever could. Yeah. See, I forgot how neat he was too. I saw that he had my blood on the collar of his jacket and every time he adjusted it, he got red on his fingers too. He always wiped his fingers on the towel. He sat on the chair beside my bed as he checked the bandages, like the way I did whenever I had to watch over him.

It was probably the closest to gratitude I ever got from him.

I woke up to the sound of Butch's gunshots as he practised his aiming. His soiled jacket lay on my chest. It felt warm, and it smelt like him. Smelt like Butch. Butch in the vault.


	7. 24 days after leaving the vault

**24 days after leaving the vault**

Why was this wound taking so long to heal? I shifted the shoulder and the same sharp pain shot through my whole back. I hissed at the wound like a true Tunnel Snake.

Butch chuckled as he entered my room. He carefully placed his pair of scissors and a comb onto my desk, before unzipping his jacket and placing it on my bed. There was a hole in the left sleeve of the jacket already. Although I enjoyed seeing my favourite bully adapting to a harsher state of life, it was strangely saddening to see it happen. The only thing good was that he seemed to be less of a cold-hearted bastard out here.

I watched as he examined my mutating hair. He frowned. Then, like a professional, he slowly ran his hands through my hair. I closed my eyes on instinct. I had forgotten how gentle Butch was when he was working like this. The same hands that could break my jaw could be this gentle when handling my hair. Such a contradiction. He repeated the motion from different directions, watching the way my curls fell over my face.

For a moment it was the vault again. And we were in detention. And he was bitching about my curls again. In fact, he was starting to bitch about the curls at this moment. In the vault, whenever my curls got too … unmanageable (by Butch's standards), he would hurt me bad enough to earn us both detentions so that he could style it in isolation. He even took it upon himself to straighten it out. I used to think that it was because he felt indebted to Dad.

Now, I think, that maybe it was the only way we could maintain some form of an acquaintance without actually being friends. It was the only time he was harming me without hurting me. Besides, we're maintaining that some form of acquaintance now in the Wastes. I watched his back and he watched my hair. Also, even if it pained me to admit it, he was the one who taught me how to beat somebody down. See, he didn't really trust Wally. When Wally sent me to the infirmary one too many times, Butch taught me to aim for his nose or his balls. (So he beat me down to beat Wally up. At least I was already in the infirmary.) The next time Wally tripped me, I kicked him in the nuts. I got sent to detention while Wally got sent to Jonas.

"Hold still." I obeyed, still closing my eyes. It was strangely comforting to feel another human's gentle touch, even if it was Butch. He was skilful and efficient as he worked, snipping a bit here and there. The sound of hair cutting was comforting as it echoed in my ears.

The only reason why I let him do this was that I was injured. Oh. And he shot 5 roaches, two of which just happened to be raiders. Butch had vomited afterwards. He didn't tell me, but I figured it out from the smell and traces of cola in the bathroom.

Butch ran his fingers through my hair which felt very short. The skilful fingers travelled across my scalp a little forceful and I suddenly felt a pang like I missed … something…I had no idea what. I opened my eyes.

"What?" he snapped without venom. "You don't like it rough?"

"The hell you're talking about?"

"You fell asleep."

"No I didn't."

"Whatever, man. You were snoring." Butch laid down his scissors and comb onto the desk again and dusted the hair off my shoulders. I pushed his hand away to stand and dust myself off. He moved to lie down on my bed, his composure relaxed as he slid back to Butch-man. There was a cocksure grin on his face as he stared at me. I was starting to feel a little insecure again with him watching so I walked to the mirror to see his work.

Honestly, the first thing that caught my eye was that scar on my cheek, the one the feral ghoul gave me. I usually hid it under my hair. It was grotesque. It made me look scary. I wasn't even handsome in the first place and a scar would just… fuck it. Why would it even matter? It added a bit of 'enigma' to my personality. Well. That was what I tell myself. And now, the reason I could see the scar was that my hair was short. It varied in length, my fringe stopping at my cheekbones and the hair sloped to the back where it reached my nape ending in big waves. It was still a bit messy, but an organised kind of mess. I had to admit. It was a good cut. I was … glad about it. But. The scar. Shit. Why was I bothered by it? It should not matter. I turned away from the mirror and walked to my bed.

I sat, squeezing in beside Butch who gave me space.

"Like it?" Butch asked. He knew I did. He's an artist. I didn't answer but lay down beside him instead, feeling uncharacteristically calm and relaxed.


	8. 27 days after leaving the vault

**27 days after leaving the vault**

"Who did that?" Butch jabbed a finger at my cheek roughly. I glared at him. Actually, I had been wondering when he would ask that question. Since cutting my hair, he had been openly staring at the scar and sometimes poking it. We even got into a fistfight because of it but I refrained on the account that the both of us wanted me to heal faster. Sometimes I didn't find it too irritating and let it slide. What bothered me was that it wasn't as irritating as I thought it'd be.

"A feral ghoul."

"Like Gob?" I snorted at him.

"Gob's not feral," I said with more force than I intended. Honestly, I hated those fucks at Tenpenny who thought they were better cause they were perfect. Them and their primped suits looking down on every other Wastelander. Tenpenny's pompous asshats couldn't even adapt to life in the Wastes.

Then again, they had a point. There were Ghouls, and there were ghouls. The one who gave me the scar was a creature, not human anymore.

"This ghoul was uglier. A true zombie. A sack of bones with a too huge mouth. Even you and your horrible aim can get him with one shot." Butch smouldered. "But the first time I saw him, I thought he was like Gob. Friendly. So I let him get close. He swiped at me. Saw my skin and blood spatter on him."

"Man, that's sick. Did he want to eat you?" I nodded, trying to hide the smile that was slowly forming on my lips. Butch was a little terrified listening to it; he even placed the bottle onto the table top. It was incredibly satisfying to creep him out.

"I shot him, though, and stole his caps." Butch glanced at the scar.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah. Stung. I couldn't move my facial muscles for days cause the wound kept reopening."

Butch nodded. It signalled the end of the discussion. We stayed quiet for a while as we sat on the balcony, watching the town awaken. Then suddenly, Butch's fingers made their way to my scar again. He traced the lines roughly and it almost felt like a violent caress.

"It's cool," he murmured.

"Want one on your face?" He laughed openly. When he stopped, he had a grin on his face.

"Nah. I can't pull it off." He chuckled. "I'm too pretty for them."

Pompous asshat.


	9. 30 days after leaving the vault

**30 days after leaving the vault**

The bandages were finally off. I could move my arms properly again. I hugged my rifles and proceeded to repair them, giving them the tender loving care they so needed. Dad once told me that pre-war, you needed weeks to heal bullet wounds. Now, a few days of healing and you're good to go. Pre-war life sounded like a bitch. From the lessons we had in the Vault, I knew that there was a system for justice back then. Like the kind of system the Vault had. The system we had in the Wastes was more efficient, but there were no opportunities for apology.

When I examined the ruined towns, I saw that these used to be homes to pre-war life. They looked homely and happy and unprepared for the bombs that would stop their carefree life. Sometimes I stayed the night there to dream about that life. I never did dream of them though. When Dad left the Vault, heck, left the Wastes, I lost the concept of what home meant. I lost the concept of what life meant. I couldn't even bridge the life I had in the Vault to the life I had in the Wastes. Two separate things. … But Butch totally messed that up in my head. He was not that much different in the Wastes than he was in the Vault. Still the same jackass, but maybe less tense.

We arranged empty bottles and tin cans on the railings. Butch decided to join me shoot them before he gave up and sat on the outdoor table drinking cola. My aim was a little off but I'd still survive. Pretty soon I ran out of targets. So I shot at the pieces of broken glass on the floor. Lucas came by and sat beside Butch. He was telling him that I was an 'insane motherfucker who saved the town from being nuked'. Butch stared at Lucas like he couldn't believe it. I ignored it.

"Three Dig didn't say anything about it."

"Three Dog. He hasn't come to it, yet. The kid's done too many good deeds." Three Dog again. All these praises made me uncomfortable. That was why I took out the fuse from the jukebox upstairs. Three Dog grated on my nerves. Three Dog talking about me grated on my nerves even more. I didn't need reminders about what I had done and who I had saved. It just made me feel inadequate. I picked up my gear to enter the shack, noticing how Butch glared at my steps. I ignored him.

As soon as I entered the door, Butch pounced and we wrestled in the living room. The guns scattered on the floor. Wadsworth and Dogmeat just watched on. Wadsworth 'tut-tut'ed at me as he recharged himself. They were used to this by now.

"Give me the fucking fuse!" Butch yelled in my ear. I growled at him and landed a blow on his nose. He kicked me in the ribs. Shit. He was so good at this. Sure, he had loads of practice in the Vault. I wheezed at the pain. "I want to listen to the radio."

"Get your own radio!" I wasn't about to tell him he could listen to it on his pip-boy. I struck him in the jaw, satisfied at the sound of a crunch. He swung at my mouth, the sudden pain pushing me back. He cut my lip, didn't he? I touched the lip, feeling wetness. This asshat was fucking up my face. In my moment of hesitation, he punched me hard against my eye so hard that I landed on the floor. The pain spread across my face and head like the broken glass I shot decided to take revenge and drive into my brain. I was aware that I was moaning. Wow. Butch must want to listen to the radio very bad. As I struggled to get up, my head spun. I was disoriented, seeing spots. There was a stinging sound going through my ears and I passed out.

**Some time later**

I woke up to the sound of an irritatingly cheerful voice. Shit. Three Dog. Butch found the fuse I hid under the bed. I couldn't believe I actually passed out. I probably wasn't that fully healed to fight in the first place. As I tried to move my hands, I found that I couldn't. They were tied to the bedpost. They were fucking TIED to the bedpost! I pulled. The rope cut into my skin. Tied that tightly, huh? The punk ass. Sometimes, Butch was so smart. I knew why I was tied. If I wasn't I'd be breaking his knuckles right now.

How this was possible was beyond me as I stared like an idiot at the open door where Butch was watching me. The serene look on his face wanted to be smacked, really. I only felt better when I saw the bruise on his cheek and reminded myself I gave him that. The strains of music from the jukebox travelled into my room and I sighed, resigning myself to the fate of listening to GNR. I must look a downright mess. Shit. Once again, I didn't understand why being ugly bothered me. It must be because this perfect punk ass I was babysitting reminded me of how far from perfect I was. Him and his examining my bruises, scars, hair and of all things my freckles. I must be a perfect example of how the Wastes would break a man from the Vault.

"This, faithful listeners, is the story of a little boy. A little boy... named Bryan Wilks," Three Dog crooned, when the song ended. I turned away from Butch. "You see, Bryan's from Grayditch, a small settlement that was recently overrun with overzealous Giant Ants. Bryan, sadly, was the sole survivor. That's where the kid from Vault 101 comes in, and where our story, thankfully, gets better. You see, not only did Mister Vault 101 stop the Ant problem, he also found little Bryan Wilks a new home. So if you see Bryan and his new parents, wish them all good luck. Oh, and 101? Nice work."

Billie Holiday came on the radio then, her voice giving the house a mellow mood. I observed the cracks in the makeshift wall, feeling just so… on display, especially when I was almost bare except for my shorts. Butch came and sat on the edge of the bed, still keeping his eyes on me. I cringed at the closeness.

"Man, you're just a little goody two-shoes, aren't ya?" he commented, surprisingly without the usual biting tone. It gave chills down my spine in a not good way. "Hey, Eddie." I cringed at the name, even though it fell from his lips in a softer tone. I refused to look at him even when he nudged me. He jabbed at the bruise on my ribs and I hissed.

"What do you want?" I growled. Butch chuckled a deep, low rumble.

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…" he chanted, as he poked the scars on my chest. A flare of something sparked just under my ribs.

"What the fuck do you want?" I snarled at him. I didn't like this helplessness.

"Amata's a dumb bitch for kicking you out of the Vault," he said firmly. With more venom than he ever mustered up for me, he said her name like it was a disease. I just kept quiet, though. I didn't…want to think about her. Or the Vault. "You're a fucking hero, man. Three Dig's saying all these things that you did. It's awesome shit."

"Fuck off."

"I mean it, nosebleed." I stared at him now because of the way he said that. "You're a hero." For the first time, there was a peaceful kind of silence between us. And Butch had this… strange smile on his face. It was strange because it was open, sincere and warm. I had never seen Butch smile like that. Ever. Okay, I saw it once. It was when we had killed the roaches attacking his mom. Honestly, that kind of smile… messed me up inside. There was this jumble of emotions in my chest that I didn't understand. I knew I wanted to wipe that smile off his face. Instead, I bit down on the cut on my lip, the pain spreading all over my jaw.

After some time, Butch leaned over my body and I froze at the action. I felt him untie the knot around my wrists as I watched mesmerised by the glint of silver around his neck. It was the chain he always wore, which supposedly belonged to his father. The chain slid on my skin, tracing ghost patterns. For a moment, I relished the feeling of someone being this close to me. Wanting to be close to me. The radiated body warmth. The smell of something other than the Wastes wafting through my nose. The smell of something other than Dogmeat. The smell of Butch's musk. Sure it wasn't that pleasant. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't relish it. It… it actually felt like home.

Shit. I am that lonely. I couldn't believe it.

Butch lay down beside me. We watched the ceiling. I heard Dogmeat pad into my room. He jumped on the bed and rested on my legs. I moved my now free hands and scratched him behind his ears, earning a purr from him.

"Three Dig. Why don't you like him? He likes you."

"Three Dog. It's not that I don't like him." I sighed. "I don't like being reminded about the things I have done."

"Why? They're good stuff. He's saying that you're a saviour."

"Right." I whispered, feeling my whole body clench. When I spoke again, my voice was beyond audible. "I couldn't even save Dad."

That night, Butch stayed beside me. We fell asleep, listening to the radio, without cleaning up our wounds.


	10. 35 days after leaving the vault

**35 days after leaving the vault**

Butch pulled the worn hat I stole from Burke over his eyes. I didn't tell him the things I had to do to get it though. Burke. Where the hell are you? My ripper and I wanted to thank you for sending those Talon Mercs after us.

We're probably in Yao Guai country. There were many of them lazing around over here. I reached a hand out to stroke a Yao Guai cub. Its mother nuzzled my hand. Dogmeat whined low in his throat, probably jealous. For some reason, I seemed to attract creatures more than I attracted humans. It wasn't so bad. These creatures could easily fuck me up if they wanted to. Butch kept his hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket, still refusing to touch the Wasteland creatures even though I told him they were safe.

I blamed it on the radscorpions that proceeded to chase after us as soon as we left Megaton. They were essentially roaches with more legs and a stinger. Butch ran away from it yelling 'Tunnel snakes for life!', even though he had the combat shotgun in his hands. I killed it, haphazardly and clumsily, like the way I was when killing these damned things. I would never admit it to Butch but these things disgust me. I stopped laughing only when Butch smacked me upside the head with the butt of his toothpick. The reason I found the situation hilarious was that he was always so willing to cause harm in the vault. Or break things. Other than me. Outside the vault, he seemed… not that willing to do so. I was still by far his most favourite breakable things.

He was still smouldering about it. I could tell from the way his lower lip jutted out and him sucking in the hollow of his cheeks. I nudged him. He glared at me and I couldn't help the grin that slipped onto my face. Whatever I did slowly eased him up and after a while, he grinned sheepishly.

"Kill the next one, alright?"

"I'll butcher it," he said gruffly. I believed him.


	11. 37 days after leaving the vault

**37 days after leaving the vault**

We're in the Yao Guai Sanctuary now, lying down on some old, bloodstained mattresses. I assumed they belonged to the group of people who wanted to make a home here. Rest in peace, guys. With the dim glow of the lamp with us, it seemed cozy enough and warm enough even to be a home. Butch was already asleep beside me on the next mattress. I nudged his back with an elbow to make sure he was really asleep. I needed to heal up from when I got caught in a bear trap. When the mechanism clamped down on me, I bit my tongue. My two companions were worried about it but I had pretended that it was nothing. In actuality it hurt like hell. Like a queen ant's toxic spray decided to disintegrate my ankle from the inside out. I checked the wound. It stopped bleeding.

Dogmeat shifted off me when I reached for my sack. I took out a blood pack quietly from an inner zip. Then, as gracefully as I can, bit a hole in the corner of it to take a sip of the health drink. The first taste of copper made me shudder in anticipation. A slow slur of pleasure rumbled underneath my skin. I, huskily told Dogmeat to stay as I limped to a corner in the back of the cubby hole we were in. It was only a matter of time before greed took over and I slurped the rest of the blood into my system. The sweet coppery tang spread over my tongue and Fuuuuuuu-ck. No matter how many times I did this, the taste always got to me. The sweetness, the copper, the heady rustiness; the heaviness of it in my throat was intoxicating. When I sloppily finished the pack, I felt inhuman. Superhuman. Alive.

A shiver of bloodlust crept up my spine as a kind of adrenalin rushed through my veins. I moaned slightly from the pleasure of the blood gave me. Like my nerves vibrated with want. Very… intoxicating. It was only in these moments, that I truly felt feral. This was what the blood did to my system. My senses became acute. I could pick out the smell of a fresh-blooded, live one nearby.

I bit down on my lower lip as I held back a moan, shaking my head to get rid of this bloodlust. A shaky breath left my lips as I wiped the excess blood that had dribbled down my chin. I greedily licked them off my fingers.

Then suddenly, I was shoved from behind and I landed face first into the dirt. Assfuckshit. In haste, I swung around, cocking the gun I had ready into the face of-

"Fucking hell." Shit. Butch was awake. My eyes focused on him as he stared with wide eyes down the barrel of my gun. I pulled the gun away and slowly tried to regular my breathing. But I wasn't exactly going down from this high any sooner. The scare he gave me just made it worse. I kept silent as I continued licking my lips and waited for him to catch his breath. He sat down across me, muttering some expletives. I checked my wound. The wound on my ankle had covered up. Nice.

"So that's why you have packets of blood," he said. I glanced up at him through my fringe and saw him trying to be brave. What I meant by that was that he had fear in his eyes, but his stance was all courageous.. See. This man was actually afraid to see blood. He never said it in the Vault. He didn't have to. I knew that he shielded his eyes from his own wounds even. The gurgling of lust under my skin let itself be known

"Butch," I called, listening to how husky my voice was. Not a good idea to ask if he was afraid.

"Is it good?" he asked instead, avoiding my eyes.

"Hell, yeah."

Then with sudden agility, he reached up and touched my lower lip, pulling back his finger to confirm if it was indeed blood. He stared at it, rubbed it and sniffed at it. Then before I could stop him, he smeared his fingers on his lips to taste it. The idiot. He grimaced. Of course, to him, it tasted like nothing but blood. With me, it was a life drug, almost. Watching him did not help at all, especially when the red stains were still on his lips. Never mind that he just put into his mouth what I had on my lips. A weird shudder crept up on me. My bloodlust clamped down on my insides and I closed my eyes to quell it. The pits of my stomach were on fire. I very much wanted to kill him for awakening more of that desire, but that would only fuel other needs. I wanted to pounce. I wanted to bite. I wanted to…do things to him. I felt unnaturally… aroused from the interaction. Which was very wrong. Very wrong.

So, in one fluid movement, I grabbed Butch's toothpick and plunged it into my thigh. Stupid? Yeah. But effective. Sure. My thigh was numb, but I was still healing. I could feel the blood I had drunk still coursing through my veins and patching up my wounds. In a matter of second, the wound on my thigh would have healed. Somebody screamed. It might be me. But in the next moment, Butch wrenched the blade out of the wound and commanded Dogmeat to get some bandages which was stupid because the mutt didn't like him, didn't want to listen to him and didn't know what bandages were. In spite of the situation, I laughed.

"You stupid sonuvabitch. What the fuck were you thinking?" he yelled, alarmed, holding on to my leg. Too close. With this heightened sense of awareness, I could smell his musk. I could feel the heat from his palm radiating through my skin on my thigh. The blood on his lips shone as he let loose a long string of vulgarities. I shuddered, watching him and feeling a myriad of emotions. He smelt delicious. This is not good. I pushed him off. His nostrils flared.

"Butch, shut up." Bad. It even came out as a growl. He was about to say something, his lips curling the way they usually did when he was about to yell at me. Instead of letting him talk, I roughly rubbed the pad of my thumb over his lips to collect the last traces of blood. He gasped at the contact. I suckled my thumb, finishing up the beautiful copper.

Very nice.

I licked my lips.

I didn't anticipate the hand closing around my neck as I was shoved onto my back. Winded, I stared up into Butch's twisted face. His nostrils were flaring. This might be the best time to explain to him what I was doing but all I could feel was the smooth palm against my throat, his knees on my sides, his breath on my face and his human warmth. I saw his other hand clench into a fist in slow motion aimed straight at my face. It didn't move though, just started shaking pretty violently. For some time, we stayed in that position.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked finally, tensed.

"No," I answered, voice still husky and deep. He dropped the fist onto my chest and let out a low sigh of relief. I smiled at him, showing him my bloodstained teeth. He shuddered.


	12. 38 days after leaving the vault

**38 days after leaving the vault**

It was midnight. I watched the clock on my pip-boy turn. Most of my headiness was gone. I felt more like myself now.

Was Vance like this with his affliction? I knew with Ian, it was the sudden impulse of bloodlust. That's why he snapped. Uncontrollable bloodlust. The poor kid dreamt of it every night. I assumed with me it was only when I could taste it.

The Family saved me. I had been on a long journey, trekking in the sewers alone, just within a month after leaving the vault. Ammo was not enough. My guns were unrepaired and broken. The ferals were running for me. I had no Stimpaks. I was dying. All I had left was the clothes on my back, the switchblade in my hands and the letter I had for an Ian West. I heard the crackle of a warm fire and as soon as I saw the junction between two tunnels, I collapsed with Ian's name on my lips. Someone hauled me up and I awoke to see silhouettes. Someone told me that if I wanted to live, I'd better obey. I did some things, said some things. Then someone gave me something to drink which tasted like blood and WAS blood when I found out later. Amazingly, I felt stronger, awake and alive. That someone who saved me was Vance.

I saw blood everyday that it did nothing to me. But consuming it by the packet was like taking Ultrajet. Maybe 2 of them. Or 3. Of course, I didn't need it to survive but the burst of energy, adrenalin and everything was another step of pleasure. Honestly, even the healing was… pleasurable. Stimpaks were always better at healing, more efficient, more thorough, but for minor injuries like the latest ones I had, I could take a blood pack. Besides, with the three of us now, I had to save the Stimpaks for more serious injuries.

Butch was watching me like a Mirelurk Hunter, all sneaky and heated. It was funny how I'm more like myself now but he continued being affected. Twice I caught him touching his lips, giving me dirty looks.

"Shit, man… You're…intense," Butch commented at the end of my explanation.

"No shit," the last tinges of huskiness was still in my voice. Dogmeat lay asleep by my feet.

"Do you need to… bite people?"

"If I need to, you'd know." I grinned. "I'd get you first."

"You think that'll stop a Tunnel Snake?"

"Isn't that how snakes fight? With their fangs?" I laughed. "You should just let me bite you. Tunnel snakes for life, right?"

"Don't scar me is all I'm saying," he joked. The tension cleared and he threw a bottle of Nuka Cola at me.


	13. 47 days after leaving the vault

**47 days after leaving the vault**

We visited Arefu and bunked in with Ian for a couple of days. Butch spent his time leaning over the edge of the town, looking through the scope of my sniper rifle at the creatures inhabiting the wasteland. I figured it might do him good, these lessons of the Wastes. I stayed beside him all the time because he asked me to name every single damn thing. I also knew that staying here intimidated him. It was the vamps. Butch didn't say anything but he stared at Ian funny sometimes and sometimes, Ian didn't return to his shack.

I pulled Ian aside to ask him if Butch was… a distraction. I meant… well, Butch was… kind of… a charmer, in more ways than one. Did Ian want to bite Butch and was that the problem? Was that why he never came back to his house? Ian gave me a sly smile, and said 'I'd bite, if you have any leftovers, Saint.' Turned out Ian AND Alan, the one Vance sent to gave Arefu a bit more protection, had been 'hanging out' at night. And pretty much shacking up. That's why he wasn't in his house as often.

"What's that hugeass thing?" Butch forced me to look through the scope. I noted the long limbed, huge figure and its horns.

"Deathclaw."

"How the fuck are you still alive?"

"Luck."

He gave an amused smirk and shoved the rifle into my arms. Then with his special Butch agility he jumped on the railing and sat on it. Out of habit, I checked the rifle if it needed repairs. It really was a bitch if the weapons broke and you're facing Deathclaws.

"Hey, man."

"What?"

"Schenzy is sexy."

I spared him a glance. He still had the amused smirk on his face. In front of us, Karen was talking to Evan King. I smiled at her when she waved at us. When she entered her shack, I turned to the Deathclaw below us. The creature was spearing the Mirelurks in the lake. Beside me, Butch traced a crack in the concrete he was sitting on.

"You know; if you want her, just tell her. She's a straight to the point kind of person," I told him.

"What about Nova?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"You pay her. She'll let you touch her."

"Have you ever paid her?" I watched that the Mirelurks were getting ripped by that sole Deathclaw. Should I go screw that fucker up?

"Nope." I didn't tell him that Nova was shacking up with Gob.

"I have to tell you. I wasn't going to but …I owe ya." Butch cleared his throat. "I stole your caps."

"I know." Below, though, it actually looked like the tables were turning. The Deathclaw was flailing around like an idiot. Probably the Mirelurk King fucked its head up. I pulled Lincoln's old rifle from my bag and checked my pockets for ready bullets.

"Listen, man. One night when you were sleeping… I got… urges so I stole your caps and bought Nova." I paused while reloading my rifle. Butch had a little rouge on his cheeks and wouldn't meet my eyes. Was it bad if I said I expected him to do that?

"Hey, Butch."

"What?"

"By any chance, was it that night you fixed the jukebox?" I wanted to add 'And tied me to the bed?' But decided against. In fact, I didn't even get why I asked him that. Feeling unsynchronised, I started walking away without waiting for an answer. I was going to … hmmm… help the Mirelurks. Right? Yeah. By ending their lives. Great.

"Where are you going?"

"To break up a fight."

"I'll watch your back." He ran up to me carrying the sniper rifle.

When we were done and loaded with Mirelurk meat, I felt sane and calm. Butch had a triumphant grin on his face which reminded me of the times he managed to trip me up.

"You're right," he started. "It was that night." I didn't understand the way my cheeks heated up. "You caught me, didn't you?" Butch asked, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Yeah." Lucky guess. I felt dirty for some reason. I shrugged the feeling off.


	14. 50 days after leaving the vault

**50 days after leaving the vault**

We're still in the West residence. We're still here because Karen was a 'fox' but the dumbass on the bunk above me hadn't propositioned her in anyway. I honestly didn't get why I was bothered enough by this to want him to get at her. For Karen's sake I wished he wouldn't. For Butch's sake – well fuck… I wished he wouldn't either.

I growled. Why was I thinking about this?

Not good. I was feeling a kind of yearning for bloodlust. It was the house. It smelt like blood. This smell and that jackass on the bunk above together was not a good combination. No more sleep tonight. I swung my legs off the bed and I scrambled for my clothes. From the corner of my eyes, Butch stirred in his sleep. I stopped my actions to check if I had accidentally woken him up. He was perspiring. There was a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin. The scar on his forearm looked vicious on him.

I wanted to touch it.

Fuck the clothes. I needed to get out. I grabbed my rifle, strapped it on my back and left the house. Immediately, Alan jerked his head up at me. We aimed at each other out of reflex. He had blood on his lips as he pulled away from Ian. I put down my rifle. I just slid down with my back against the door, feeling disoriented all over again. It might be nothing. It might be because I hadn't slept enough. I didn't see Ian until he came and sat down beside me.

"It gets to you, doesn't it?" I asked him. "The house smells like blood." He gave a broken smile.

"My parents' blood." I saw the bite marks on his neck. Saw Ian's bloodshot eyes. Saw the way Alan's bloodshot eyes were examining us. They actually looked inhuman with clear, glowing, bloodshot eyes that were too alert in the dark. Beautiful. Were mine like that when I guzzled up the blood packs? Shit. I must have looked like scary shit to Butch.

"Saint," Ian spoke again, his voice, husky. He pressed a warm palm against my chest. I flinched at the touch. "You need a taste?" he asked, leaning over and baring his neck to me. Ian stared at me hungrily. His warmth radiated off his skin and he, honestly, he smelt… delicious. He grinned a secret grin that was both inviting and dangerous. I shuddered with the sudden want that filled the pits of my stomach.

The last time this happened, I was at Canterbury Commons and one of the mercenaries…was her name Angel?... offered to sleep with me because I was 'too intense'. I had brushed her off but she insisted. I had no recollection of what happened after that other than the fact that I felt absolutely nothing. My head was pounding because of the blasted handover the next day. That was… 6 months ago? Probably. And being proposed to by another man was not unheard of out here. Burke had been a very… persuasive man. I shivered at the memory. It wasn't a bad memory, actually. Heck. Doing that bought me more time to defuse the bomb in Megaton. It wasn't all bad.

Fuck. Ian smelt amazing.

Oh, he knew that. His grin widened, all sly and seductive, as he moved closer to me. It amazed me how he hid this side of him under his shy, respectable Ian West. He reached out a hand and when he placed a finger on the scar on my cheek, I woke up. I cringed. I stopped his hand. Felt… like a violation. His grin fell but maintained a small smile. After a few minutes, he stood up and walked to Alan.

"You live like a saint too?" Alan teased, without humour, his eyes glinting.

"Fuck no." Then what? I just didn't like him touching my scar. Or scars. Anyone for that matter. Not just Ian. Anyone. Being out here, almost naked, made me feel like a social outcast. Uh. I probably was.

Suddenly the door behind me opened. I almost fell backwards.

"Tunnel Snakes for life. Tunnel Snakes for life. Tunnel Snakes for life," Butch was muttering under his breath like a mantra. He was fully dressed and had a pistol in his hands. He almost stumbled over me when he rushed out.

"Butch-"

"What the fuck?!" he yelled shrilly as soon as his eyes focused on me. His nostrils flared. "Your bed's empty! Your rifle's gone! What in fucking hell are you doing out here naked?!" He was downright pissed off. I couldn't help the grin I knew I was letting slip on my face.

He glared at me and before I could dodge, he pounced. He had his palm against my throat again as he straddled me; he was choking me. The rifle slid off to somewhere to my left. I cringed at the thought of the scratches on it. This time, though, instead of holding back a punch, he struck a fist right into my face. I retaliated. We fought right in the doorway of the West residence. He was letting off some steam and so was I. The aches came back again as we lay down panting and bleeding after a much needed fistfight. After a few moments, Butch let out a frustrated grunt. Then with one strangely meaningful look, he entered the shack. I continued lying down on the ground.

"Here," Alan said as he handed me my rifle. Ian stared at me with a knowing smile on his face. I got up, nodded to the both of them and walked into the shack. I was greeted by Butch's bare back as he stripped out of his clothes all over again. He was starting to lose weight; I saw the hints of boniness. There was a bruise starting to purple on a shoulder blade. Feeling guilty, I unstrapped the rifle and climbed into the bottom bunk of the bunk bed. The mattress dipped down when he climbed in beside me, wincing.

"Sorry, man," I smiled at him, nudging him with a bruised elbow. Sorry for making you worry, not that you'll ever admit it. He stared at me, his frown fading into an unreadable expression on his face. Then slowly, he traced the scar on my cheek in the rough caress that he usually did. I flinched at the touch, but didn't stop him. I soaked up his roughness like a guilty pleasure. He stayed silent, not even acknowledging my apology until he finished tracing that scar. My throat was dry by that time; the scar was on fire like my abs was on fire. I contained the shiver creeping up my spine as I let go of the breath I held. Thing was, this awkwardness would still feel better than what Ian offered.

"Don't fucking do that, again," he warned, sounding like he was saying it more to himself than to me. Even though I felt all messed up inside, I smiled.


	15. 51 days after leaving the vault

**51 days after leaving the vault**

"Offer still stands, Saint," Ian said cheerfully as he followed Alan. I watched them both disappear into Alan's shack. I stayed out here until the first traces of sunlight glittered on my skin. We're finally leaving Arefu. Checking my pip-boy again, I saw that we should probably hurry if we wanted to make it to the library by evening.

When I turned, Butch was eyeing me funny. There was a cut on his lip, which I overlooked when patching him up just now. He probably knew that.

"What offer?" he asked. I froze.

"Umm…Erm…Uh…" I coughed. "You don't want to know."

"Spit it." He sounded very tired. I observed how his hair was kind of slowly losing a bit of its well-kept-ness. "Or don't. Whatever." He yawned.

"Want to stay another day?"

"And do what? Spy on King?"

"We'll leave then." I picked up the bag. Dogmeat barked happily. Butch yawned again. He reached out and picked out a piece of dried grass in my hair.

Thing was, I was never meant to be clean. Or pristine like vault dwellers were. Like Butch was. I wasn't born in the vault, or chosen by some higher order to be a part of one. Dad had to beg for entry for my safety. Maybe that was why the Overseer hated us so much. Just like those fucks in Tenpenny, the Oversser believed that he had a right to be in a vault because he was somehow superior to any of us. And me and Dad, we belonged to the outside.

A day after my twelfth birthday, someone found that out and I was ambushed when I made my way to class. I think my mind selectively chose to forget the faces, just remembered voices and the hurls of insults. Dirty. Ugly. Wasted. Go back to the Wastes. You don't belong in here. You're spreading germs when you breathe. In the midst of it all, I got blinded by a spray of crimson in my eyes. I knew I was bleeding. As I groped for something to defend myself, because I truly thought I was going to die, I pulled out the BB gun Dad and Jonas had given me. I fired a shot. There was a scream. Then I passed out.

I had woken up with Butch on the cot next to me sleeping. Amata was standing next to me and she was crying. I never saw her that distraught. She admitted Wally overheard her conversation with her father. Dad checked my eyes. I didn't remember. I just remembered Butch suddenly waking up and screaming bloody murder. At Wally. Who wasn't there.

That was the first time I laughed hysterically at him.

I had to spend some time in the isolation cell because of that gunshot. It didn't hit anyone but the wall. Delinquent at 12 years old. For all that trouble which wasn't my fault, I earned a scar, my first one, across my chest. As I grew, the scar was nothing but a faint line that stretched from just above my heart to my collarbone. Jonas and Stanley told Dad it was from a switchblade. That mystery was never solved but I had my guesses. I wasn't going to point fingers.

Butch was muttering under his breath again. Bitching about the dust, probably. And the smell.

"I'm fine with it," he said suddenly.

"The sky?"

"With you, man. Your urges." He sighed. "You want to lay down with a dude? I'm fine with it." I didn't reply, because I didn't know how to. "I saw the way that vampire looks at you. I don't trust him, but he wants you."

"Butch –'

"He wants to fucking eat ya."

"Butch –"

"Bite you and –"

"Butch, baby." He stopped at that. "If I lay down with a guy, it ain't going to be him alright."

"Whatever, man."

"I mean…Ian's spoken for." That was the truth.

"But not me." He gave me a sidelong glance, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Just saying."

I stared at his back as he walked on ahead. He did not mean that, did he? Wait. Why the hell am I even wondering – Fuck that. It's Butch.


	16. 60 days after leaving the vault

**60 days after leaving the vault**

I yawned when Butch woke me. He stopped jumping me in the mornings some time ago. The other day, he poured dirty water on me to wake me. Sometimes, he shocked me with the shocker glove. Sometimes he blasted Three Dog into my ear. Sometimes, very rarely, though, he whistled a tune. Those days I woke up slow and felt cut off from the rest of the world. Today, he patted me on the cheek a couple of times and lay down beside me complaining about old books.

In the vault, whenever he landed in the infirmary, I had to keep him company because he had bad nightmares. Usually, we shared a cot on those nights just so someone was around when he woke up. We ended up getting used to this arrangement because Butch came by almost every night. The two of us never spoke of it to anyone else and I doubted Butch would tell Paul or Wally. I had forgotten these little arrangements when I left the vault in pursuit of Dad. Another life, right?

I stretched and pushed myself up. Dogmeat yipped at me. I think he was starting to get used to Butch, especially when Butch constantly let him have the old steaks we scavenged. I scratched Dogmeat behind his ears.

Scribe Yearling was having breakfast when we left the 'bedroom'. She nodded at us. Butch gave her his suave Tunnel Snake smile. The night before, he had managed to get her to drink some of the whiskey we found in the children's archive in the ruined library. She got a little tipsy from it but when she tried to make out with him, he laughed cruelly and brought her to a Brotherhood of Steel knight. The knight proceeded to calm her down with not much success. Butch just smirked at the interaction. Times like this, I realised that there was still some part of him that was the cold-hearted bastard.

As we sat down on the table, Yearling passed me a bottle of water. Butch smiled at her easily and pointed at the hickey on her throat. She blushed, a small, sweet smile on her face. I took a sip of purified water. All I was thinking about was… that hickey could have been Butch's.

"Why do you do that?" I asked him when we were exploring the archives. "Attract them then push them off?"

"Cause I can." I frowned at his answer. He smirked. "Why? Jealous? Nobody wants little Eddie?" I grimaced at the way he said my name.

"It's cruel. What if she really wants you and you lead her on and-"

"I'm a barber. You think they really want me?" He shook his head. "This do-gooder crap is for the-"

"What's not to want?" I sighed. "You're pristine." I walked to the desk in the middle to dump the salvageable books we found. I felt frustrated at everything at this moment. Damn everything to the Enclaves. I wanted to hurt something. Damned jerk had everything in his favour and he still chose to play with people's feelings. My head got hot all of a sudden so I drank some water, thinking about Amata and Susie Mack. Amata stayed clear of him and that's why he had a grudge on her. Susie… she wasn't so smart. When I left the first time, I knew she was pregnant.

"Pristine?" he quipped from behind me.

"You're clean. Pristine. You don't look too bad and you've got charms." Handsome. Charming. Scarless. Butch. He didn't need to make people want him. They'd choose to want him. He sat down on the desk and stared down at me.

"You're a fucking hero," he said. "Everyone wants a piece of you."

"And what does that have to do with you?"

"Butch-man? Pristine?" He ruffled my hair. "You're the one with light shining out your ass."

"Fuck off." I batted his hand away and stood up. I felt like hitting him so I wanted to walk off that frustration. He forced me to sit down on the chair I just lifted my ass off. Irritated, I just let him push me down. Immediately, he plunged his fingers into my hair. Did I ever mention how gentle he was when touching hair? He was being gentle again as he ran his fingers through my hair. My throat ran dry as I swallowed what I wanted to say to him. I think I even relaxed because the next thing I knew, he was cupping my chin and tracing the scar on my cheek with his thumb. Gently, this time. Too fucking gentle that it bothered me. The heat that left me returned and I felt the skin warm from his touch.

"Scars look pretty on you," he whispered, with an edge in his voice. There was a glint of danger in his dark eyes as he leaned closer. "Always did." I felt his breath wash over my lips. I held his wrist loosely, undecided on whether to push it away or not.

"Don't tempt me."

"Being sober really sucks, doesn't it?" he interrupted with an evil smirk that shot straight down my spine. Why do you do this? Wasn't it enough that everyone wants you? Don't fucking play with me. I shifted myself away from him but he trapped me by closing his hand around my throat.

"Let me go." He only tightened his grip on my neck, grinning at my discomfort.

"No."

"Butch-"

"I fucking said no!" he yelled. "Now, Eddie," he started and I flinched at my name. "Tell me-"

I jumped him, shoving him into the desk. He screamed. I landed a blow on him. He punched me back. We fought violently with the intent to harm… nothing like the short fights we had out of habit.. The last time this happened, he was disgusted with me because we woke up with entangled limbs. That was in the Vault. This fight made me cough blood. Every part of my body ached as we growled and screamed and scratched at each other. He was stronger than me. Always had been. He slammed me against a bookshelf and I heard a crack when my arm hit a broken edge. I howled in pain. We stopped only when the knights stopped us, threatening to shoot us if we didn't.

"You want me, Nosebleed?" he yelled, laughing maniacally as blood dripped from his nose.

"Fuck off." I pushed away the stirrings of longing in the pits of my stomach.


	17. 62 days after leaving the vault

**62 days after leaving the vault**

I'm considering leaving him somewhere. Somewhere he wouldn't follow. Yeah… leave my assault rifle with him and some ammo, a couple of Stimpaks and purified water… He'd start his own gang, somewhere. He'd live… He'd survive. Before the raiders got to him. I had no idea what to do with my… excess baggage.

Said excess baggage was sleeping beside me, taking up most of the mattress. I didn't get this. No, no. I understood why this was comfortable just that he… always chose to torment me in every single way. See. In the other corner of this room, there's another mattress. He marked it with his Tunnel Snake jacket. But he's here on my side of the room being a dick by filling up my space. The reason nothing had healed was that even after trying to ration out the Stimpaks we're still left with our last ten. It's the fights, really. The stupid, bloody, pointless fights. If they could stop Butch's entire jackassery, they'd be worth it, but I think it worsened him. He unleashed more of his violent streak with each day that passed out here in the Wastes. Not that I expected any less. Just that it was unleashed onto me most of the time. Not that I minded, actually.

Tonight, or rather early morning, as I checked over the purple bruise on his nose and collarbone out of habit, I realised that maybe… Maybe it wasn't so bad that he's here. In spite of the fights we had, I could honestly say that it hadn't been too lonely since he's here. I hadn't thought of Dad's death as often if I had been alone. Sure Butch reminded me of Dad. I remembered the Doctor Dad part that took care of this abused boy. It was what Dad was about. The good part. The protector part even if it was this boy who sometimes forced me into detention after lessons. It's definitely better it was Butch than Wally. Wally would never be satisfied with fistfights and bruises. Wally would beat until I passed out then would carve his initials into my forehead after succeeding in making me his bitch. He'd probably shave Dogmeat's fur off too just to make him his bitch. He'd try making everyone his bitch.

I grabbed the last blood pack on my left and stood up carefully. After checking over my own injuries, I pulled on my clothes. I grabbed my rifle, some ammo then exited the room, nodding at Yearling and a knight as I passed.

"Raiders out there. They want this place back," the knight told me in his metallic sounding voice. How was this relevant to me?

"Sure," I drawled. I bit a corner of the blood pack as I pushed open the library double doors. I could hear them scuffling and muttering something as they moved around. It was dark, a little of the library's lights spilled through the boarded up windows. I walked forward, checking my pip-boy to see where the bastards were. Someone shouted at me.

"We've got a bleeder!" came the battle cry as the whole horde came out to meet me.

I finished my blood pack, let the thing permeate my system then unleashed my own violent streak on these… bleeders. Thing was, without Butch around, I could concentrate on pure bloodlust.

When the first rays of sunlight hit my face, I memorised the image in front of me. I checked them for medication, caps and ammo and entered the library. As I stroked Dogmeat, I felt the high subside but I knew my eyes were still bloodshot.

Butch was still sleeping. Dogmeat lay down on the unoccupied mattress in the other corner. Quietly, I put the loot together with my stuff and took off my soiled clothes. I brought two Stimpaks with me as I padded over to where Butch was. The purple bruise around his eye and nose had lessened its vivid colour. After checking the needle for contamination and finding it clean, as gently as I could, I pierced one of them into his bruise.

This …I'd not show this tenderness while he's awake. I was still disturbed by his attempts to seduce me just to prove a point. I still didn't know what that point was supposed to be. But at this moment, his sleeping form, my most favourite Butch form, softened my viciousness. When the needle pierced the skin, he flinched but didn't wake up. I watched the liquid-like substance seep into the bruise, watched more of the purple leave. I repeated the action on the other bruise, rubbing it so the medication flowed properly. The thing with Butch was that his skin was soft… girl-soft, like Amata's skin. He scarred very easily and he hated it with venom. That was probably why he obsessively checked himself after every fight in the vault. That was probably why he returned to the infirmary every night for a check. Outside, in the Wastes, he was more inclined to let the bruises stay for a while before obsessively sticking Stimpaks into wounds.

"Your eyes are crazy," he commented sleepily, slipping into an easy smile. I placed the empty Stimpaks beside me before lying down. Butch yawned. Dogmeat yawned.

"Let's get out of here," I said, my voice still sounding hoarse.

"We're supposed to -"

"Screw the book-finding."

"And you're the hero?" He snickered. In the quiet, I relaxed. "Hope you weren't planning on being a model," he whispered, as he traced the scar again… the first time for the day.

Yes. I didn't get this. I didn't get him wanting to touch me or my imperfection. I didn't get why I was even fine with this. Because I was. I was fine with this. Absolutely fine. I didn't get it. I sometimes, even craved the touch. That one time we beat each other up close to fatality? It was because he woke up and I had my arm around him. Shit. I was sleeping. I didn't know what happened. I woke up when his knuckles hit my face; he broke my nose. I didn't let him near me for weeks till he finally found me and jumped me and we ended up fighting again. Strangely, that was what made me trust him.

I closed my eyes and fell into deep sleep, feeling the rough caresses.


	18. 63 days after leaving the vault

**63 days after leaving the vault**

There was a boat…a working boat bobbing in the river. As we passed by the river, the woman crying hysterically came up to me, grabbing my hands. I could see desperation in her tear-filled eyes as she told me about her missing daughter. The asshole in the boat didn't let her on because she didn't have caps. Heartless bastard. He was about to point a gun at me until I showed him the caps. Then he smiled a heartless bastard smile. I counted out the caps but she pushed the offer away. She said if she followed after her daughter, she'd die before she could hug her. I saw how malnourished she was. She was right, she wouldn't survive.

Please. Find her and bring her back.

As we walked away, with me deep in thought, Butch stopped me. He placed both his palms on my shoulders and stared at me levelly. The sunlight shone on his tired face then, golden dots flecking his eyes, reflecting in his hair, last traces of bruises glowing in the light. There was that unreadable expression on his face again. I'd probably remember this image of him for the rest of my life.

"Take me with you." Butch said.

We both knew I couldn't.

The riverboat would be leaving in two weeks.

The woman's name was Catherine. Mom's name was Catherine.


	19. 70 days after leaving the vault

**70 days after leaving the vault**

Very quickly, Rivet City was charmed by Butch DeLoria.

We watched Angela and Diego get married and Butch had tears in his eyes. Dogmeat nuzzled the back of his knee and he absent-mindedly stroked the mutt's head. Glad to see that they're slowly getting along. Chief Harkness was glad that I hadn't 'retired from heroism' and 'decided to take in a little lost puppy'. Puppy my ass. This was a snake in its finest form. He flirted with everyone, showing his perfect teeth with his best Tunnel Snake smile. This was what he was made for.

Shrapnel let Butch cut his hair, threatening to shoot me if the cut was bad. The extra ammo he gave me meant that he liked the cut. Vera let Butch style her hair but she still gave us one room instead of two. She giggled throughout the whole session, delighted that a clean, handsome man like him was around. Seagrave did not like it one bit. Butch tried to charm him too. He failed.

Yet, even when we played, joked around, I was thinking about how Catherine was faring without her daughter. I knew she wasn't faring very well. In the depths of my mind, I was thinking about the mother I never knew. Sure. I didn't know her. Yet, I knew, if Mom was still around and I'd gotten lost, she'd try to find me and bring me home. Heck. If Dogmeat was lost, I'd kill everything in sight, torch world ablaze just to get him back.

When his fingers ran through my hair, I closed my eyes, because I had come to take pleasure in it. The thought that I might not get this gentleness again for some time, ached. I shrugged the hand off my scalp. He stripped out of his clothes, whistling Billie Holiday's 'Crazy' and he came back with a pair of scissors and a comb. Smiling a happy Butch the Barber smile, he went to work on my hair.

He fit in here nicely, didn't he? He never smiled this easy in the Vault. In the Vault the closest he got to a smile was actually a smirk. I smirked myself at that fact. Sitting here, looking at him as a changed person. It was ridiculous yet… this was believable. A Butch in the Wastes actually, slowly adapting after 70 days.

"I can't take you with me," I told him.

"What, you want me around?" he teased, the charming smile still in place. He threw that smile around all the damn time now that I had no idea if he was being serious or not. He usually reserved that kind of suggestions or looks for everyone else but me. I bristled. He did it to me almost always now. In this here room, it's just us and Dogmeat and this 'flirting' or whatever it was should stop. Cause us being in this room, I got a little crazier at night when he slept beside me. I saw an open-faced Butch, trusting me like he used to in the vault. Trusting that I wasn't going to bust his ass even though we split each other up in the day. Trusting that I'd be there to wake him up from his nightmares. Trusting that I'd be here when he opened his eyes. Trusting that he was just Butch to me and not anything else. After all the shit we'd been through, I trusted him to not play these kinds of games with me. They… whacked me out of balance.

I sighed to myself in frustration at these mixed emotions.

"Hey man. If you wanna get closer to me, that's all you got to say." Butch smirked playfully.

"What if I do?" I challenged. He stopped his work and stared straight at me. We stayed frozen like that for a long time before I figured that this was pointless because what the fuck did I want? For him to quit playing around with me like that? Sure. "Forget it, Butch."

"No, no," he started, carefully putting his tools on the bed. "You're… not joking," he said incredulously.

"Forget it."

"Eddie." My name fell from his lips easily and I flinched. "Say it, then." I didn't say anything. Well, how could I say that without… explaining what I meant? I didn't even understand this myself. Shit, this was crazy. After more pregnant silence, a relieved yet painful-sounding laugh escaped his lips. I winced at the sound; it made my body ache at the emptiness of it.

"You won't say it, will ya?" Laughing that same hollow laughter, he sat down beside me and leaned his forehead against my shoulder. He continued laughing hysterically until it ended in a choke. "You fucking won't." I felt the little puffs of warm breath on my bare skin; I shivered at the closeness. A rough finger travelled up my arm, traced the scar on my face; I soaked in the touch. I thought I felt lips against my shoulder that I might have mistaken and then his presence was gone. The mattress dipped behind me as he lay down, brushing against my back. I closed my eyes feeling an exquisite kind of pain shoot through my chest.

"Man, you've changed; I mean bad is one thing, evil is another," he said.

"Evil?" I sputtered.

"Yes, you shithead. Fucking cruel is what you are," he huffed. "You can save the whole fucking world but you can't be fucking honest and be damned Eddie of course I'm upset. I'm fucking frustrated at ya, nosebleed. In the damned vault it's always like this, you're always and we're. Why fucking why are …so fucking difficult? I'm here with ya, aint I?" A frustrated sigh left his lips. "Forget it." He stood up, circled around me and stared down at me, radiating different levels of frustration. "Just go your do-gooder crap and save people," Butch's voice scratched on my skin. "You're a fucking hero." I stayed silent. He lifted my chin up unexpectedly gentle and stared into my eyes. "Tunnel Snakes for life, right?" he said after a long time.

"For life," I answered, hearing my hoarse voice. The rough pad of his thumb rubbed over my dry lips before he walked away and sat down on the other side of the bed.

"Will you help me take care of Dogmeat?"

"Come back for him," he whispered, sounding tired.

As I stared at him from the corner of my eyes, it dawned on me he was the reason I was still hanging around Rivet City.


	20. 1 day after leaving the Wastes

**1 day after leaving the Capital Wasteland**

I'm searching for someone's daughter. Yet I felt like whatever I was searching for just slipped through my fingers. I hadn't slept since yesterday. Dogmeat whined when I told him to stay with Butch, told him to trust the snake and watch his back. I tried to convey to him that this was a hero's mission and he had to do it for me. My dog was one faithful hero dog. Before I left, I took in every detail of the moment as though I'd never come back to this. Butch's expression in sleep was an uneasy one. I didn't like it. The bulging scar on his arm called at me but I didn't touch it. I couldn't imagine how to say goodbye to Butch… so I left him a holotape on the empty pillow next to his head. I didn't listen to what I had blabbered on the tape because I didn't want to remember it. Thinking drove me insane.

Thinking about him drove me fucking insane.

Tobar looked me funny. A lewd kind of grin. Maybe he wanted… some form of sexual gratification on top of the caps. If he lay one fucking finger on me, I'd… well, I'd hold him off till we reached Point Lookout. I didn't fucking care that much anymore.

Point Lookout.

No one was going to look out for me, wherever I was going.

Shit. I miss ya already. Dogmeat too.


	21. 15 days after leaving the Wastes

**15 days after leaving the Capital Wasteland**

Still stuck on the boat. I stopped eating much. Adrian, the other Wastelander on the boat, noticed but didn't say anything. He's here because he wanted to get some moonshine. He told me his whole town would miss him now that he's leaving. When he asked if anyone would miss me, I told him that Dogmeat would. Was anyone waiting for me to come back? I said 'Probably not.' Not many people even knew my name. I… didn't think the only one who knew my name would give a damn.

I took apart my rifles viciously, and then fixed them up again. Tobar stared at me with his signature heartless bastard grin. Adrian asked me about the scar on my face. I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat. In this moment, all I wanted… was to come home. Even if you'd rather skin me alive.

"So, no one's waiting for you back home?" Adrian repeated. Home?

"Fuck no."


	22. 23 days after leaving the Wastes

**23 days after leaving the Capital Wasteland **

I was stranded on a boat in a fucking river, thinking about him every single minute I'm awake and he was probably sleeping with everyone on that ship not giving a damned shitload about me. Fuck my life. Fuck this boat. Fuck the Wastes. Fuck everything. I'm not eating right. I'm losing my sanity. I'm I'm not sleeping well.

I'm… a mess.

I'm a fucking mess.


	23. 31 days after leaving the Wastes

**31 days after leaving the Capital Wasteland**

We reached Point Lookout.

Whoop dee fucking doo.


	24. Some days after leaving the Wastes

**Some days after leaving the Capital Wasteland**

Found her. Been wandering the swamps forfuckingever. Nadine strutted around with her tribal garb, told me about some fucked up schemes and fucked up promises. I didn't like the way her hands lingered on my skin when she took the scar off. She said it was amazing I was still walking straight even after they ripped out a part of my brain. I told her it's cause I was already insane before they did that.

DeLoria was probably screwing Vera at this very moment.


	25. More days after leaving the Wastes

**More fucking days after leaving the Capital Wasteland**

This…It's a Brahmin load of crap. The bitch didn't want to leave. Couldn't believe my nonexistent luck! No. I wouldn't resort to begging. No begging. Please.

I'm stuck cussing at the top of my lungs at ghouls as I fought them bare-fisted. Was it insane that I started fist fighting ghouls? There was no other way I could vent my frustrations.

Caught sight of Adrian. I considered hiding but my similarly non-existing eating habits made me clumsy.

"Want to stick around?" he said as he came up to me, his voice smooth and sleek. There was a hint of a smile on his face. "We could get through this swamp together."

"What do I get out of it?"

"Whatever you want," he answered.

"I'll kill what you want killed." But that's it. Adrian reached out and brushed ghoulcrap of my cheek. I didn't really care about being clean anymore. But I didn't like this person touching me.


	26. What felt like months

**What felt like months, dammit**

I helped the pompous ghoul jackass get rid of the slimy brain jackass with the fucked up schemes. But Nadine disappeared. Adrian disappeared too.

I'm alone. Not that I had never been alone before. But I'm so… alone right now.

So tired.

I'm all out of meds.

Desperately taking a mixture of drugs to stay alive, I might be addicted for the fourth time in this lifetime. Dad always said you shouldn't mix drugs together. Desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

Kind of stupid that I left a lot of important things back in the Wastes.


	27. Days, nights, whatever

**days nights whatever, man**

We're off. On the way to mainland. If I last that long, I'd kiss the ground.

Nadine peered at me from the door, shook her head then left. She was wearing Tobar's Girth. The original owner of that girth was dead from a bullet wound from my rifle. Under the influence of moonshine, the tribal tattoos on my arms looked like writhing snakes.

Tunnel snakes for life, right?

I hadn't lived like one most of my life. I should at least start sometime.


	28. Catherine

… 

Catherine's grateful smile was worth it. When she hugged Nadine, I felt a kind of sunshine heat my skin. I thought of my own mother; maybe she was smiling down on me.

I might make it home. I saw the ship through the haze in my eyes. My… body was shaking from exertion.

"Chief…" A weak whisper of relief left my lips when I saw Harkness. After that, a spasm racked through my body as I dropped to my knees. I felt a gurgling of bile rise up my throat and I heaved but nothing came up. Someone patted my shoulder.

"Saint?" Harkness. "We gotta get him to Preston!"

"No…I gotta…" my voice trailed off when I started to see black spots. My vision… darkened.

"Help me out here!" Someone lifted me up. I didn't feel anything anymore. Sounds of twisted metal. Banging metal. Heavy running footsteps. Echoes in the stairwell. Some distant yells.

"What the-"

"No time for this, DeLoria!" DeLoria? Butch?

"Eddie?" Something in me swelled at his voice. I wanted to speak out but my body wasn't responding to me anymore.

"Shit! This is Eddie?" Harkness.

"We gotta get him to Preston. Everyone get the fuck out of the way! Move, asshole!" More footsteps. I was finally laid down on a hard surface.

"Doctor-"

"What happened?" Preston. Someone pried my eyes open and shone a light in them. The hand left my face and stripped me. Clinical hands touched my chest. Soft murmurs. A prick in my arm. Audible gasps. Pried my mouth open to check my tongue. Metallic whirring. Footsteps. Pacing back and forth.

"Give him some Stimpaks!"

"I can't-"

"Give him something! He's getting paler!"

"You-"

"DeLoria, calm down." Harkness.

"I ain't going to fucking calm down till you do something!" A bark. Dogmeat? "Doctor, back up off that screen and help him or I swear on your fucking corpse that I will fucking gut you!"

"There's too many drugs in his system."

"So what? He's gonna die?"

"He's too weak. Hasn't eaten anything."

"Spit it or –"

"I can't help him." Silence stretched. Beeping from a machine. Even the sounds I heard reverberated into a series of echoes. I think… it's time. At least I… came back, didn't I? Kept part of a promise. Heartbeats. Slow. Dad? Going to see ya soon. A vicious slicing sound. Shocked cries. More audible gasps. Something pressed itself onto my lips. It smelt… like blood.

"Eddie, come on, man. Take it…" Warm wetness on my lips. On my tongue. It tasted like blood. I swallowed weakly. More dribbles flowed into my mouth, filling it with coppery tang. I swallowed every drop. I felt… like my body was slowly, agonisingly slowly waking up. A short burst of energy shot through my system and I groaned. "Eddie?" Warmth flowed through my veins. "Wake up, man." A palm on my forehead. I reached up and held the… offered hand resting on my lips.

"…FFFuck," was the first word that fell from my lips. It hurt. My body was aching. I forced my eyes to open. A kind of relieved laughter reached my ears.

"Tastes good?" Butch asked, his voice broken but amused. My sight focused on his form. Saw his face. A low moan rumbled at the back of my throat.

"Fuck yeah…" I whispered. I licked my lips, tasting more.

"Don't die on me, man." I nodded.


	29. Some time later

**Some time later…days?**

I woke up from blackness, hearing the various machines beeping in the room. It was a good kind of beeping cause it wasn't echoing in my ears. Normal. Maybe even a little welcoming. Pounding in my head. I … felt cold, but in a healthy kind of way, not the jittery cold washes I had previously. I checked my wrists seeing the tribal snakes tattooed onto my skin and seeing them comforted me somewhat. I slowly pushed myself up. I was only clad in my shorts.

"Welcome to world of the living." Preston greeted me with his oily voice as he stepped into the room and saw me. I had to steady myself so I could focus on him. He walked towards me and checked my vitals. I took in the smell of medicine and cleanliness. A bark alerted me for the mutt entering the room. I found myself hands full of Dogmeat and laughing like an idiot. His fur tickled my bare skin. He was slobbering all over me. I hugged him tightly. I felt bloated with such strong emotions that I choked on a breath.

"Hey, boy. I missed you," I murmured into his fur.

"I'm sure he does too." Preston stuck a needle in my arm. "He's been coming here every day." Preston shone a light into my eyes while Dogmeat proceeded to lie down on my lap. Either he got heavier or I got weaker. I think I got weaker.

"So, you're DeLoria's Eddie, huh?" I perked up at that.

"DeLoria's Eddie?" Um. Yeah. I didn't understand this.

"The barber from 101 constantly talks about his Eddie." His Eddie? "Your name is Eddie, am I right?"

"Yeah."

"So, you watched his back even when he was bullying you? That's tough love." Tough love? "I mean, I can't stand the kid, now. He must've been worse when he was younger." Yes. Pretty much. That sounded like Butch. "You've got some resolve, huh?"

"He's a Tunnel Snake." Butch. I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. A rush of adrenalin shot through my veins and I shivered now. "Now, he's a fucking saint too."

"I see. The same Tunnel Snake you threatened to show Trinnie, Lana, Victoria, Vera –"

"Look, man. I was just kidding." Butch walked to where I was, with his easy swagger. I couldn't look at him so I busied myself with stroking Dogmeat's fur. It seemed like the mutt's fur was actually neater and softer than I last saw him. Heat travelled up my neck when Butch reached me. When the gentle fingers ran through my hair, I couldn't help the shuddering breath that escaped my lips. I missed this. I really did. My curly hair fell over my face. "You need a haircut," he said, his voice broken all over again.

"No shit," I replied weakly. He chuckled. Fuck. I missed that too. I soaked up the moment, letting it fill every part of my body. When the fingers left and he walked away, I struggled to breathe properly.

"Saint, here's the thing. No more chems. No more Stimpaks till you're better. You have to eat. Your body can't take a third addiction problem."

"Fourth," I corrected Preston.

"Even worse. Don't go without eating," Preston nagged. "Stay in Rivet City till we've got this covered." I nodded. "DeLoria, you're not working again today?"

"And cut what? Dry grass?" Chuckle. "You want a cut, Pres?" he asked with his teasing smirk in place. Preston shrugged him off and went to the terminal in the corner of his office.


	30. 1 day after consciousness

**1 day after consciousness**

We spent the night together joking around the day I woke up. Butch had brought in a bottle of whiskey into the infirmary but Preston threatened to kick him out when he came in. In the end, Butch gave the bottle to Trinnie. She'd put it to good use, unlike me. I was never much of an alcohol person. In truth, I felt exhausted but how could I be? I'd slept for days so I should be fucking chipper. Preston said I was unconscious for almost two weeks. Butch said I'd been gone for 113 days. It honestly felt longer than that. I told him so and it pissed him off.

"It's long enough, nosebleed." He balled his hands into fists. Chief Harkness walked past the room and told him to lay off on the troublemaking. He sucked in his cheeks in frustration reminding me of the little bully he was. I wheezed cause I wasn't strong enough to laugh at him. His intense glare stunned me. I held his gaze until it got too warm on my skin before looking away. Butch stood up and decided to bug Preston to discharge me. "Listen, man. I haven't slept in a while. You gotta let me have 'im."

"What do you intend to do with him?"

"Fuck him hard. What the hell do you think I'll do?" He snorted obstinately. I kept my eyes focused on Dogmeat.

"I don't know, DeLoria. Hence, I'm asking you." Preston shone a light into my eyes, checked my temperature, took some notes and checked my throat. "No strenuous exercises yet, okay?"

"Shit. Yes, Doc." I figured out why this was so nostalgic. This was the way he acted to Dad and Jonas.

"Just bring him round every day for a check up." Preston sighed. He just looked tired.

"What? That easy? Your Saint might be deflowered and you're letting it happen?"

"Hey Butch." I cleared my throat. "Someone beat you to it."


	31. 7 days after consciousness

**7 days after consciousness **

Nothing tasted incredible out here but I'd swallow it all just so I could stop these cold shivers. Still, Gary Staley was a damned good cook. His Mirelurk cakes were mostly edible. I finished up my plateful of cakes and drank up the bottle of purified water. Dogmeat followed me when I stood up to leave. He hadn't really left my side since I woke up. This… companionship was amazingly touching.

I'd say that Butch managed to clean up Rivet City by making it prettier one person at a time. He even saved Trinnie's godawful hair which was a fucking miracle in my book.

I realised life in Rivet City wasn't that much different from life in Megaton and actually, if I tilted my head and squinted a little, not that much different from the vault either. I think when I almost died, I realised dying in the Vault, the swamp, Rivet City, Megaton, Springvale or wherever would still feel the same. Life was life. And… I guess… Butch in the Wastes was like Butch in the Vault. Just like how I was Eddie and always would be Eddie.

I had been sleeping for days at a time. It was ridiculous that I spent this much sleeping. I was only happier that the bed was more comfortable than the stretcher thing in the infirmary, more comfortable than the bed-thing on the riverboat, Duchess Gambit. I guess the non-lonely mornings added to the comfort. Waking up alone bothered me; I didn't realise it till I woke up these mornings to see someone in the bed with me and I… felt strangely complete. I could easily say that I was content.

Then again, some things were difficult to control. When I woke up yesterday, Butch had wound a hand around my waist like he owned me. Just that touch was enough to drive me crazy with want. With his hand, the warm breath on my neck, the bare chest against my back, I found myself frozen with desire. Heat pooled in my loins and in just a few minutes I found myself aroused beyond belief. Yes, that crazy. I wriggled out of the embrace, pulled on my clothes and left the room as fast as I could. It was catching Trinnie and Brock's makeout session in the stairwell that calmed me down.

It was afternoon when I walked to the bridge tower where I crossed paths with Harkness. He nodded, greeting me with a 'Hey, DeLoria's Eddie'. I nodded back, feeling a prickle of heat at the back of my neck at that term.

I pushed open one of the doors and stepped out onto the balcony. Butch was drinking a bottle of Nuka-Cola as he leaned over the railing. He smirked in greeting and then patted the empty chair behind him. I sat down and took off the Tunnel Snake jacket. I started wearing it when it was the warmest piece of clothing I had. Dogmeat lay down beside my feet. Butch and I were as quiet as we go; it felt like we were walking on glass sometimes. I didn't get it. At times, Butch radiated a kind of frustration. Other times, he was calmly gentle. Some other times, he was deliriously happy. And… most of the time, he was playing around.

"Ready for me, baby?" he teased as he pulled out the pair of scissors and comb from his pocket.

"Bring it."

He grinned then set to work. I closed my eyes instinctively as soon as he touched my hair. A shudder crept up my spine. I craved for these touches, probably for a long time, and I didn't know it. The sound of his calm breathing bothered me. Warmed my blood and made me …want.

"What have you been saying about me? I'm 'DeLoria's Eddie', now. What did I do to fucking deserve that?"

"DeLoria's Eddie?" He laughed loudly. "You know... I tell em things we did in the vault and stuff."

"Gary asked me if I really let you break my nose just so you could cut my hair in detention."

"Yeah. I remember that." Butch lifted my chin and examined his work before continuing the cut. He had an amused smirk on his face. "That's 'Butch's Eddie' to you."

"Sure, Butch. Whatever." I stared at my tribal snakes and traced the pattern with my fingers. I felt at ease with the world.

"Hey…That holotape ya left me? You remember it?" I froze. "Did ya mean the things you said?" There was something hopeful in his voice that made me gaze at him. He wasn't meeting my eyes.

"Hey, Butch. Honestly, I don't remember what I said on that tape…" my voice trailed off.

"Ah…well…fuck it."

It got tense all of a sudden. We didn't say anything else until after his job was done. He lifted up my chin to check his work then gave me a very meaningful, heavy look. I stopped breathing when he traced the scar on my cheek with his thumb. The thumb rubbed over my parted lips and a choked sound escaped my throat. The heat that I felt this morning returned. Butch had the unreadable expression on his face as he stared down on me. After some moments, he pulled his hand away from my swollen lips and created a burning path down my chest with his palm, rubbing the muscles, brushing hair off my skin. I swallowed deeply, holding on to his heated gaze.

"You take a blood pack?"

"No."

"You got crazy eyes."

"No shit." His dark eyes got darker. With some strength, I stood and shoved him against the railing. He gasped, the sound causing a tremor down my spine. The smell of his musk was intoxicating as I ran my nose down the side of his neck, filling my lungs with his scent. It felt like we were in the vault and we were going to sleep and he smelt exactly like that. He felt like home, really. He reminded me of my life in the Vault, then the life I had in the Wastes.

"You sure ya didn't take a blood pack?" he whispered huskily, running his hands up my back.

"Fuck no." I dared a taste of him as I nipped at his collarbone. He gave me a choked moan that tugged at my stomach. I licked a trail over the hollow of his throat, feeling velvet skin on my tongue, tasting the sheen of sweat that had formed. "This might be the best time to push me away," I told him.

"Don't fucking play with me, Eddie."

"Don't fucking play with me, Butch."

"Eddie," he whispered. "I'm not fucking playing around."

"Me neither."

I did not anticipate the shuddering breath he exhaled. Nor did I anticipate the tongue running up the inner rim of my ear. I didn't move. I couldn't. A hand reached up to stroke the side of my neck as he tugged at my earlobe with his teeth. Sucking it into his mouth bathing it with his tongue. I swallowed hard. I felt the first stirrings of arousal pool in my abs. He continued making sucking kisses moving down my throat, pausing to bite at intervals. His other hand hovered over my stomach. He shoved me against the ship's metal. I struggled to contain my pleasure as his fingers massaged my neck, pulling me closer. When he bit down hard, I let loose a deep growl. I felt him smile against my skin.

"You like that?" he asked, chuckling.

"You do too. " He grabbed me through my pants. I hissed.

"Like a true Tunnel Snake," he said against my lips, grinning. I swiped my tongue over his upper lip, eliciting a deep moan from him as I tasted traces of his cola. So fucking sweet. He pressed himself against me; I felt every explicit angle of his body. Ahh. Fuck. Felt Butch through his pants, his length, everything. I was already breathing heavily, shivering with control, resolve. Couldn't really…stay standing with my knees trembling like that. Couldn't do anything when he started stroking me through the fabric…like this. I might be moaning I didn't know. Ahh! Shitfuck. He started a momentum, wrenching me closer to oblivion with each stroke. There was a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Hey, Eddie," he said huskily. "Want to tie you to the bed."

"You…uhh, sick bastard, ah fuck… you had been thinking of this since…-" He squeezed, shutting me up effectively.

"Yeah…" He was humping my thigh erratically. Glad to see that he was enjoying himself as well. I slid my palms behind his neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed heated kiss. He groaned into my mouth when I sucked erotically onto his tongue, swallowing his taste of utter fuckable-ness. Darkly sweet. Smoky. Sinful. Utterly fuckable.

"Butch, can you- OH MY!" At the sound of the voice, the lips left me in a loud smack. Cold washed over me. It just got to me that we were at the bridge tower, not exactly the right place to be doing this. "I can come back another time…"

"No, no it's okay," I told Vera, our arousals denied. I firmly detached myself from Butch and limped to the railing, my breath all haphazard. Butch growled at me and I swore... I felt my cock twitch at that sound. Boy, was he frustrated. In the next second, he slipped into his charming self and gestured for Vera to sit at the chair. He forced an angry kiss on me in the split second she looked away. When she sat down, she stared up at me apologetically, while Butch muttered under his breath about 'bad fucking timing' and 'evil bastards with morals'. He shoved my jacket at me, hissing for me to 'cover yourself, dammit'. Very quickly he composed himself and charmed her, touching her hair and I felt a swell of envy at that. I shrugged the jacket over my shoulders, zipped it up and watched him work. I was jittery.

"So, you really are DeLoria's Eddie." She smiled at me. "That explains why you don't complain about sharing one bed."

"Oh, babe since back in the vault. I can't sleep without him. Been hell these four months. I tell ya about the first time-"

"Purely sleeping, Vera. Not what you thi-"

"Yeah, but I bet ya Eddie wanted to. He was-"

"Butch, just tell the damned story."

"Was Eddie's tenth birthday. I was 11 at that time. He had a party cause, ya know, people love im. I hated im. The asshat. Goody-two-shoes got everything he wanted." I snorted. He paused to check Vera's hair. "Anyway, Andy, our Mr Gutsy, ruined the cake so ya know, I was hungry. Eddie got a sweetroll and I wanted it. Chased him around with a switchblade. You shoulda seen his face. Man, that was hilarious." I raised an eyebrow at him. Vera giggled. "But see, Karma's a downright bitch. That night, Ellen, my ma, she had been drinking. And when Jackass Gomez told-"

"Officer Gomez was cool," I interrupted. Well, he was cool.

"What? You got a crush on him?" I kept mum. He bristled. "I'll fuck that outta you-"

"Oy, Butch. Get to it, alright."

"When Gomez told her, she smacked me around. She smashed a bottle of whiskey on me. I blocked it, it broke my arm. Bleeding buckets. Somehow I found my way to Doc James, his dad, and passed out. When I woke, Eddie was next to me, cleaning my wounds." Butch's tone softened, then. There was the 'unreadable' expression on his face. "He was scared of me. Could see it in his green eyes; made him look like a snake." He barked a laugh. "I didn't let him go. I didn't want to be alone. Cause, well fuck. I was scared too. I was scared I'll die. And Eddie was the kind of kid that'll make sure I didn't." He gave me a smile. "Since then, we started sharing a bed. Crazy that I can't sleep without him, ya know."

"I can sleep without him fine, though," I added. Vera giggled.

"When did you find out you had feelings for each other?" Vera asked.

"Feelings?" I played with the zipper on the jacket. "Um. We haven't." Her beautiful eyes widened at that. I couldn't help the smile that slipped onto my face. "I know how I feel, though."

He finished working on her hair. I knew Vera was already beautiful but when he was done, she was beyond gorgeous. Seagrave was taking too damned long to woo her. I told her so. She blushed. When she left, Butch kissed me hard. From his pocket, he slipped out a holotape and pressed it into my hand.

"Listen to it. Answer me. How things go depend on that." He slid his lips over my scar and then he was gone. Dogmeat stirred from his sleep.


	32. 8 days after consciousness

**8 days after consciousness**

"How the fuck-…Am I doing this right? What the shit? Well, whatever. Ummm… Shit Butch. Why do you have to tempt me like this? You're driving me insane...what the hell am I doing? Uh yeah. Hey uh. Give Dogmeat a steak everyday. If not, give him squirrels. No Iguana bits cause the mutt throws them up later. Take all the caps. And the meds. I don't really care. Take them use them. You'll be fine... What if I did say I want to get closer to you? You'll break me, won't you? Remember that time we woke up and I got my arm over you? Yeah you probably don't remember. You fucking broke my nose, jackass. Truth is, Butch. I'd rather you break my nose than my heart. That was cheesy. It's true, though. What are you gonna do? Beat me up or something? …I'll come back and you can do whatever you want to me, alright?"

I replayed it for the sixteenth time. Sure. I remembered saying this now. Dogmeat barked at me, slightly annoyed. It's past 2 in the morning and no one is up and about apart from the guards. Dogmeat was sleepy. In a few seconds, I reached our room. Dogmeat curled up on the abandoned couch in front of the door. Within seconds, he had fallen asleep.

I pushed open the door. Butch looked up from the pre war book he was reading. The atmosphere was tense and electric. I closed the door behind me and walked to the center of the room. He watched me, curling his lips over his thumb. We stayed like that for a few moments before I unzipped my jacket and placed it on the table. I slowly unbuckled my pants, pushed them down my hips, stripping down to my shorts. A horny sigh from Butch echoed in the room and I fucking shivered in the heat of the gaze he focused on me. He closed the book, slid it off the bed and with his Butch agility wrenched me to the bed where he proceeded to straddle me in the blink of an eye.

"Whatever I want, right?" he asked, dangerously. Winded, I just nodded; staring up at his hunger-filled blue eyes. "You're gonna take it like a man, then." He leaned down slowly, exhaling over my lips. When I lifted my head to kiss him, he pushed me down, putting a hand around my neck. He placed hot, dry kisses over my scar, causing a ripple of desire down my body. I felt him trace it with his tongue in warm, wet swirls; his deep erratic breathing in my ear slowly intensified the things I'm feeling. His other hand made a journey over my chest, down my navel before palming me through my shorts. I jerked at the action, a curse leaving my lips. I gripped his arm. He only tightened his grip. I was painfully aroused and my breathing became shallow.

"Eddie," my name on his lips made me growl. "You're insanely fuckable." I faced him, seeing the seductive smirk on his lips. I could only afford an 'ngghh…' as he rubbed me hard. Ah…fffuck. It was cold. He slid my shorts off, exposing me to the world. It… only reminded me how hard I was for him.

"Urnggh…" With the same smirk, he watched me twitching under him as he stroked me for real. Gaining momentum with each pull. I was aware that I was starting to whine, cursing continuously. I gripped the sheets under me. I held on Butch's hand as he viciously tugged at me with hard, fast strokes that ripped every groan from my throat. Jackass looked fucking proud of himself. I arched up into the touch, almost choking with the pressure he had on my neck. He tightened his grip on me, watching me with lust-filled eyes. I felt the familiar build-up of hot tension coil in the pits of my stomach, bubbling under my skin. He pumped me harder still, till I was writhing on these sheets, mumbling incoherently, whimpering pathetically. When he rubbed his thumb over the head of my cock, my muscles stiffened. I jerked against him once, twice then lost my mind. I cried out his name as I felt the scorching pleasure take me higher, lifting me till white heat took over and exploded behind my eyes. I almost passed out when a swirl of blackness blurred my vision, but his hand still stroking my too sensitive cock shocked me out of it. I stopped him but couldn't say anything. My breathing was erratic and noisy. I touched him with trembling fingers.

"Mmmm… that was intense," he said as he devoured me with his lips.

"Nghhhh…fffuck yesss," was my response. He grinned a sexy bastard grin. With grace, he lifted himself off me, stripping naked. God. Was he huge or what? He was already fully hard, the veins popping out, his head swollen and purple. He touched himself with the hand still covered with my cum; my stomach clenched from that sight. I lifted myself up and planted kisses over his stomach, eliciting moans from him. With a firm grip on him, I pulled him over me. He howled at the rough manhandling.

"Butch," I started, my voice thick with lust. "Did you get Susie pregnant?"

"This is bad fucking timing." I rubbed my body against him. He responded by inserting his tongue into my open mouth. I swallowed his taste, wrapping around him and sucking his velvet wetness. Our lips slid over each other smoothly. Damn, but he was so good at this. My spent cock twitched with reaction. I let my hands wander his skin, stopping to squeeze his ass. He groaned loudly into my mouth. I rolled over him, watching him watch me with heavy-lidded eyes. "Mind if I suck you off?" I asked. His eyes widened.

"Don't fucking play with me, Eddie."

"Do I look like I'm fucking playing with you?" Well, yes. I actually was playing with his balls. Without waiting for a response, I made a journey of sucking kisses down his body, biting at times. His smell and taste was intoxicating, filling me with the essence of Butch. He plunged his hands into my hair and massaged my scalp. I wrapped my hands around the base of his cock, earning a guttural moan from him. As I licked him from base to head, he hissed. I could tell he wasn't going to last long from the tiny jerks and twitches on his inner thigh. Roughly, I sucked him into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I did so. He called out my name and my chest swelled with control. I relaxed, taking in as much of him as I could till he bumped against the back of my throat. I dragged my tongue on the underside of his cock as I slid him out. He arched his back. I had to press down his pelvis so he wouldn't knock me with his thrusts. I slid him into my mouth again, repeating the motions. I was aware that he was yelling himself hoarse as I tasted drops of precum on my tongue.

"Hey, Eddie…uhhh… I'm gonna cum," he stammered, panting heavily.

"Do it, then," I said, my mouth still wrapped around him. I swallowed and he came with a powerful cry, spreading his taste over my tongue. Butch's taste was strong and I revelled in it, relishing it, memorising it. He jerked into my mouth a couple more times before he lay back, slack-jawed and breathing heavily. I cleaned him up as best as I can before meeting his eyes. He was watching me with the unreadable expression on his sweat-slicked tired face.

"Hey man, you okay?" I asked. He cupped my cheek.

"You can handle me. I know you can," he said huskily, his voice hoarse. I felt heat travel up my cheeks at his suggestive comment.

"Shit. What the hell do you think I was just doing?" I replied, tensed.

"This is fucking incredible." He kissed me. "I meant tomorrow."

"Don't fucking play with me, Butch."

"What? You don't want me tomorrow?" He pulled me into an embrace. We lay down together, exchanging sloppy kisses. When my head touched the pillow, I felt the strain on my muscles. I was exhausted. "Wasn't me. It was Paul. They got married," he mumbled into my shoulder. Slick with fluids all over my body, I thought about how dirty I was but for the first time ever, I was happy being dirty.


	33. New Day

**New day**

Flak eyed the bruises on my neck as I bought ammo. I ignored him. We're leaving today despite Preston's protests. I told him that I lived through some strenuous exercises so I am sure as heck going to make it home.

"Hey, Asshole. Get your own. Eddie's mine," Butch appeared by my side with his jacket zipped sinfully low. The marks I left on him were obvious against his smooth skin. I blushed at his openness about this cause yeah he was doing this on purpose. Flak blew smoke rings and shrugged. Butch pulled up his sleeves and I saw the scar on his hand where he had sliced open his flesh to save me.

We stepped out of the ship and started heading for Megaton. Butch switched on the radio, listening to Three Dog. When Three Dog talked about me, Butch raised his arms and shouted 'Tunnel Snakes Rule!'

It had just taken me this long to realise it. That, yeah.

This was home no matter how dirty it was.


	34. Thank you

Thank you!

Thank you for reading this little piece of work of mine. (Hardly little. It's a fricken 33 chapters long thingamajig.)

THANK YOU for the reading & THANK YOU for reviewing. I appreciate the nice comments and the pointers on how I can improve. MUCH APPRECIATED. And so very flattered that this got fav-ed too. (I actually didn't think I'd even get reviews but omg am I so glad I got some. Puts a spring in my step, yes.)

I usually reply to my reviews but I can't (or I have no idea how to) reply to the anonymous comments. So, I'm thanking y'all here. Well, D… you're awesome, dude.

And uh… I'm thinking about making a … sequel thing, though I don't know if that is a good idea or not. Everything I write is sort of strange at the moment. So, yeah… I don't know.

Anyway, thanks again. Much love.


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